


Lipstick

by iopeneditbeforechristmas



Series: numbers written on coffee cups [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Kanaya as a hot librarian is my aesthetic, Libraries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iopeneditbeforechristmas/pseuds/iopeneditbeforechristmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kanaya's new regular is incredibly, <i>stunningly</i> attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not even going to justify this. also i fucking went into the twilight ao3 archive for kanaya's ship and i will never be the same.

Kanaya liked books. She liked their smell, she liked the feeling of paper rough against her skin, she liked picking one up and finding herself physically incapable of putting it down again. It was probably the reason she’d ended up running a library. There had been others of course; the old owner had been a close friend and she wouldn’t dream of letting his dream go to waste, even after his death; her most recent job offer had been shot down and she needed the money; there was no one else there to do it. These were all valid reasons, but the books were the first and most important one.

However much Kanaya enjoyed them, though, it was clearly nowhere near as much as her most loyal patron.

She had regulars, of course; Karkat was a sure fixture in the romance section every weekend, and Eridan frequently burrowed away in a corner with a history tome so thick Kanaya could barely lift it and some ridiculously unheard of brand of coffee that changed every week, but this one was different. This one didn’t hang around because she was Kanaya’s friend, or because she couldn’t afford to actually buy the books (at least judging by the exquisite quality of her coats, all in varying shades of purple to black). This particular individual seemed to frequent Kanaya’s small, shabby, well-loved but run-down library purely because she liked books. And, considering that there were other, better-stocked places in Derse to go to, maybe the décor?

Kanaya had been meaning to ask her why for a while, by which she meant the two months at least since she’d noticed the phenomenon, but there was the slight problem of how. Maybe she could ask why under the guise of a customer satisfaction survey. Or maybe what kind of books she’d like to get in next month. Or Kanaya could just go up and ask her like a normal person, but there was _also_ the other slight problem of her new regular’s extreme good looks.

Pale, perfect skin. Big eyes, such a dark blue they were almost violet. Soft blonde hair cut into a bob, the kind of face men are said to kill for. Dress sense so sharp Kanaya had almost cut herself with several covert glances. Really, was it any wonder that she was so transfixed, and possibly not just for purely professional reasons of literary fellowship or a gorgeous purple hat.

One day she vented to Karkat about it, with an aching back from hours of carrying boxes of books and an incredibly lack of foresight. Remembering that one her best friends happened to be an eagle-eyed matchmaker in denial really should have come _before_ bitching about an inability to talk to pretty customers.

“You like her,” Karkat said bluntly. He didn’t even bother to look up from Twilight. It was one of the few books they both agreed on; Karkat for the ‘smouldering love story’, Kanaya for the vampires. The similarities ended there, however, because Karkat was of the firm opinion that Bella’s one true love was Jacob while Kanaya liked to write fanfiction where Bella and Alice ended up together instead.

“I don’t know where you came to that conclusion,” Kanaya sniffed. “All I said was that she had good dress sense and a nice haircut and seemed to like books.”

“So? Those are the only qualities you’ve ever fucking wanted in a woman, don’t bullshit yourself. You’ve got the lowest standards outside of fucking Eridan and he’ll fuck anything that moves. You fucking like her.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you fucking do.”

The conversation then tailed away into the kind of friendly arguing the two usually had over whether trash romances were better or worse when you added vampires, and Kanaya resolved never to mention her new client to Karkat again. Ever.

She mentioned it to Eridan, because he owed Kanaya and knew that pissing her off would result in a lot of pain he didn’t need, and therefore telling anyone else about this was entirely out of the question. She’d intended it just to be an offhand remark, and it worked; they spent a lot of time first bitching about Eridan’s various problems in the romance department, which were many and varied. Each one was incredibly rich in detail, and Kanaya found herself once again with the guilty realisation that one of the reasons she indulged Eridan’s moaning was because she found his stories, all of the invariably involving some sort of painful rejection, strangely fascinating.

The conversation was going perfectly until Eridan left, saying, “Just face it, Kan. You like her.”

Kanaya was beginning to feel very much like a young adolescent in the throes of her first crush, and had to remind herself that, hey, she was in college and perfectly capable of managing her own wayward emotions, thank you very much.

That was when Karkat arrived and plonked his tiny body on the armchair she’d placed behind the desk purely for this purpose. You could only see him if you were actually at the counter and looking over, and by then his scowl was enough to let you decide that maybe a grumpy midget yelling at the librarian about subtext was a perfectly normal sight you saw every day.

Normally, Karkat would just lie back in the chair, prop his feet up on Kanaya’s desk and burrow into whatever book he’d picked out, but today he decided to get up and peer around the library. It was deserted, with only the woman in purple sitting – why did she have to sit so _perfectly_ , Kanaya was never going to be the same – at one of the tables in the corner of the room. She was sipping from a coffee cup and alternating between reading one of Kanaya’s copies of _Lord of the Rings_ and scribbling something on a notepad.

“Is that her?” Karkat muttered, doing his best to look inconspicuous and squint at her at the same time. It actually worked quite well. If he kneeled on the armchair he was just tall enough to see over the top of the desk, but not enough that anyone else would notice unless they were very close.

“Yes,” Kanaya sighed. She was finding _New Moon_ very interesting today, far more so than the first ten reads.

Karkat grunted, looking at her for a couple more minutes before squawking. Kanaya shushed him, helping him back into the chair.

“Karkat!” she said. It was a bit louder than absolutely necessary, just in case anyone had thought it was _her_ who’d squawked.

“That’s Dave’s cousin!” he hissed.

“Your boyfriend?” Kanaya said, frowning. She’d met Dave a couple of times, and found him perfectly acceptable for Karkat, if a little odd, but they didn’t have the same classes and only ever met through mutual friends.

“He is not…okay, yes, fine, my boyfriend!”

“That’s his sister?”

“God, Maryam, no need to sound so fucking bored or anything. Jesus, yes, his sister! What, do you want me to get her number for you or something?”

Kanaya didn’t say anything. In a diplomatic sort of way.

“Oh my fucking god you do.” Karkat said, a sort of excited horror in his voice. “Have you even talked to her?”

“She wished me a good day once. I reciprocated the sentiment. It was all very pleasant.”

“Oh my _god_ Kanaya. I know you like the mutual pining trope, but this isn’t mutual because she probably doesn’t even know your fucking name and you definitely don’t know hers! Just talk to her! Please! See, I said please, that doesn’t happen every fucking day. Talk to her.”

“Will you get her number for Dave?”

“Fine.”

Kanaya sighed. She stood up, took a deep breath, and then sat down again. She got up again, smoothed down her skirt – red, and very fetching, if she said so herself – and steeled herself for a conversation she had been dreaming about for months.

“Hello,” she said. Hello was always a good start. She hoped the nerves didn’t show on her face. Or that her lipstick was smudged. The woman in front of her wore very dark lipstick. That was the kind of thing you noticed in the heat of the moment, when you were trying not to look someone in the eyes.

“Hello,” the woman said, looking up from her work. She was smiling the sort of smile one reserves for strangers. Polite, clean, empty. Kanaya’s stomach churned.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, because she could just _feel_ Karkat’s gaze burning into the back of her head. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to come here very often. I was wondering what you thought of the library.”

“I do like libraries,” Kanaya’s newest regular said, fixing her with the most soul-melting gaze she’d ever seen. “I like this one a lot, too. It’s very…cosy. The town library suffers from a very serious case of lacking a soul.”

Kanaya laughed. “Yes, I did think so. Unfortunately I couldn’t say so, because my boss at the time happened to own it, but I’ve kept the sentiment a closely-guarded secret ever since.”

“Such misfortune! I hope you weren’t too badly affected by your ordeal.”

Kanaya opened her mouth to say something, but the woman cut her off with a look at the clock and a muttered, “Fuck.”

Kanaya blinked.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. She scribbled something on her coffee cup and stood up. “But I have to go. Trivial and unimportant exams await, and I am therefore absolutely unable to miss them.”

“Good luck,” was all Kanaya could think to say. “My name’s Kanaya, by the way. Kanaya Maryam. I don’t think I caught yours?”

“Rose,” said Rose. “Rose Lalonde.”

Kanaya stared at her exquisitely-clothed back until the door swung shut behind it, before realising that she had just been talking to _Rose Lalonde._ Looking down, she also realised that written on the coffee cup Rose had left behind, in shockingly dark purple lipstick, was a telephone number.


End file.
